Sometimes In The 11th
by TheLetterB
Summary: Sometimes in the 11th Division it was hard to find someone understanding...  Clean, silly, fun, but Rated T for future language and comic scenarios. Will feature many more Bleach characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Sometimes in the 11th… (A Discussion About Little Girls)**

Hello, all. This will (hopefully) become a series of silly shorts focusing on the Bleach characters from the 11th Division of the Gotei 13 – both characterized by their Awesome Creator (who is, most notably, not me), and spooned out of my brain for convenience' sake.

Today, we learn that sometimes, it's just hard to find a little bit of understanding in the 11th.

* * *

Sometimes, it's hard finding a sympathetic ear within the confines of a division solely devoted to brutal combat. Sometimes, being so short that you only reach the counter tops with your arms raised up and your toes beginning to cramp was not ideal. Sometimes, having pink hair and a perpetual rosy flush on your chubby, little cheeks didn't help to make sure business-related matters were conducted seriously. Sometimes, it was hard to find someone in the 11th Division who understood what it was like for little girls. And sometimes… well, there was nothing left to do but cry about it.

That's why, sometimes, Ayasegawa Yumichika found himself stretched out on a swinging bench in the rear courtyard of the 13th Division's rather serene quarters.

The bench was as far away from the Zen aesthetic that permeated Seireitei like a heavy fog as you could get, but the ailing captain of the 13th Division found it to be a peaceful pastime; swinging back and forth, allowing the gentle motion, the subtle "creak" of the hinges, and the soft "chink" of its chains lull you into a dream-like state of semi-awareness.

… When there weren't any hornet's nests glued to the underside of the canopy draped over it, at least.

Thankfully, it was early Autumn and they had suffered a wicked cold snap during the past two weeks, clearing out any hint of Summer swarms of insects.

So, there he lay, propped up on a pillow one of the oh-so-very-helpful (and fearful) lesser members of the friendly Ukitake's division had lent him. He held in his arms… his vice captain.

Yachiru, so tiny that she could barely wrap her arms around their captain's neck, was sound asleep now, breathing snot bubbles into Yumichika's collar and huffing through her congested sinuses. The cricket of a little girl hadn't said anything of substance, only blurted half-sentences and partial words to go with her lachrymose fit. In fact, Yumichika didn't think so young a critter could probably summon the words to go with her frustrations.

Not like Yumichika. Oh, no, Yumichika could write essays about his current complaints. You see; it was Hisagi's fault – all of it. That damned quasi-captain, editor of that silly Shinigami publication was proving _difficult _to control after their fateful encounter. Or, at least Yumichika thought it was fateful. What else do you call it when a 5th seat officer topples a vice captain? Granted, he had done it in a deceitful manner, but an officer as highly ranked as Hisagi should have known better than to trust the conventions of a sub-culture fashioned by a murderous thug. Particularly when his opponent, being a well-respected member of said Murderous Thug's outfit, wore dyed feathers to ornament his (naturally) violet eyes. Let it keep him on his toes! Yumichika was simply doing his duty as an under-officer to remind Hisagi-san of the precarious nature of his position. Yes, that was it.

So, really, there was no reason whatsoever for the man – ordinarily so polite! – to turn down Yumichika's proposal for a fashion advice column in his paper. It was clearly an attempt to strike back at Yumichika, the ever-fashionable servant of righteous beauty, with his finger on the very pulse of Artful Style.

"Thank You, Ayasegawa-san, your ideas are very forward-thinking, and would certainly go a long way toward adding color to our usual paper," Yumichika recited in a snide, nasal tone that sounded absolutely nothing like Hisagi Shuuhei.

"However, with our present war preparations, and the restriction of paper resources we must adhere to, I'm afraid your proposal will have to wait to be reconsidered until we actually win this damn thing. (Let's do our best, eh?)," Yumichika snorted into Yachiru's damp hair. It was _so _obvious! Hisagi was being as underhanded as he must have _interpreted_ Yumichika had been when he unleashed Ruri'Iro Kujaku on the clueless man… except Yumichika _hadn't_ been acting dishonorably at all. We have already established that he was doing the man a favor!

Yumichika frowned (it was the very image of pensive beauty). What was that? A single trail of tears wound its way down the side of his face, falling drop-by-drop into his silken hair.

Sometimes, Yachiru had to cry, and it was times like those that the few men brave enough found themselves escorting the tiny beast to Ayasegawa Yumichika. After all, this was the 11th Division of the Gotei 13, a unit solely devoted to brutal, physical combat, and there weren't very many sympathetic ears to be found.

That is, sometimes, Yachiru had to cry, and there was only one other soul in the 11th Division who understood what it was like to be a little girl.

* * *

You bet, I just called Yumichika a little girl.

I'm going to have fun with these. Obviously, since there are only a few notable, canon-developed characters in the 11th Division, this series will mostly center around those few dudes (and the dudette), with a heavy peppering of cameos from other divisions. I try for humor, but I know not everyone follows my drift - and I don't blame you; I confuse (and occasionally contuse) myself often enough. But, maybe if we stick together we can figure some things out.

Next Time on _Sometimes In The 11th..._ : Secrets of Seireitei, or, "**Things 10th Division Captain, Hitsugaya Toshirou, Never Wanted To Know About Living Next Door To The Dregs Of Society**". It's _about_ the 11th Division, so it counts!

Ta-ta!


	2. Sometimes In The 10th?

**Sometimes In The 10th... (Captain Hitsugaya Toshirou Learned About His Neighbors)**

A change of title... I thought the initial choice was a little harsh.

I do love Hitsugaya - he's too much fun! And Hitsugaya + 11th Division? Beautiful. This short focuses on the lesser-known things concerning Captain Zaraki's division.

Once more - B is not being of the Ownership of Bleach... unless you count the kind that says "Color Safe!" on the bottle.

* * *

One evening, as he sat hunched over the folders on his desk, Hitsugaya Toshirou contemplated how he had gotten himself into this mess. He should have been working... except he shouldn't have, really, because this was actually his vice captain's work. She was busy, though... snoring on his couch. The small captain rested his elbow on his lacquered desk and settled his face into his palm, thumb and middle finger resting on each temple. Then he squeezed - hard.

Did it work? No. He was still conscious.

He wasn't going to be able to work tonight - not with _whatever_ was happening with the 11th Division. He was new, he realized that, and his subordinates seemed to respect that fact and were giving him a little time to acclimate himself to his job. But, exactly _how_ was he supposed to do that with a party going on the other side of his courtyard? What had the 11th Division done that merited a festival, complete with lanterns and semi-rhythmic chanting of "Hai! O-desu! Hai! O-desu!" as a drum was beaten, somewhat in correlation to the sound of at least a dozen mallets ... and what the hell did "Hai! O-desu!" even MEAN?

A snort from the direction of the couch and a stifled giggle alerted him to the conscious presence of Matsumoto Rangiku - his vice captain from Rukongai. He wasn't sure which district she had lived in, but he suspected it was full of people just like her - loud, lazy, drunks.

"What are you laughing at?" he grumbled, fingers now massaging the sore spots he'd made when he had pressed so hard on his temples. He felt more than heard Matsumoto behind him - she was very much like her zanpakutou's spirit, sneaky and quiet... except for that "oomph!" he had snickered over as she rolled ungracefully off his couch and hit the floor with a thud.

Matsumoto removed his hands from his head and gently placed them on his desk, using her own fingers to take over the job. He had to admit it, she was worthless in the office, but she was competent in battle, and kind when she was out of the field. He liked her, so he kept her.

"That sounds like the 11th Division's Semi-Annual Drunken Mochi Festival!" she piped up after the chanting was suddenly punctuated by a startled sound of pain. "They also have a Semi-Annual Drunken Dart-throwing Competition, and a Semi-Annual Drunken Rock, Paper, Scissors, Death Laser, Flaming Abacus, Velociraptor Tournament, and a Semi-Annual Drunken Three-Legged Biathlon - but those ones don't usually end in a mass venture to the 4th Division's trauma ward," she snickered.

Hitsugaya had visions of all of these events swimming through his head. Each one of them made him wonder about Captain Zaraki in a different way. None of them reassured him about standing next to the man at the Captain Commander's Addresses.

Hitsugaya Toshirou was the youngest captain to have ever entered the Gotei 13. He was both proud of, and embarrassed by that fact, considering the amount of unwarranted (and unwanted) attention it brought him. The snowy-haired captain sighed as he closed yet another folder containing Matsumoto's work. They were stacked on his desk in a neat pile - now that he had completed them, that is.

The blanketed lump on his couch snored. Hitsugaya ignored it.

It had been decades since his first "Semi-Annual Drunken Mochi Festival" and there had been many, many more held since then. The lighting of the lanterns always heralded a visit to the 4th Division's trauma ward, and Hitsugaya always smirked when he heard the first scream. But the smirks were getting shorter, and changing shape somewhat after all these years. He knew why, but it gave him hives to admit it. These years had taught him many things about his neighbors, the 11th Division, and what kind of people they were.

The foundation of Seireitei was cemented upon secrets and lies, and those who rose to the top were the best at keeping them going. Hitsugaya hated liars, but understood the need for deception in a society as watchful as theirs. What he observed of the 11th Division always reminded him to stay on his toes around them...

Nobody kept secrets, and nobody lied better than the unruly brutes of the 11th Division. Hitsugaya kept those secrets out of respect. After all... who would have thought that Madarame, who lusted for bloody battle on a constant basis, had a masterful expertise in the art of origami - and further, that he used to spend hours folding and creasing colorful paper for his vice captain's menagerie of imaginary beasts?

Who would have thought that that very vice captain studied tea ceremony and dance at the behest of her father-figure, a man who made _Madarame_ look like a fluffy little kitten?

Who even _wanted_ to know that Ayasegawa was barred from using the officer's onsen not because of his habit of getting loose with sake and a little bit _too _casual with his fellow seated officers (and those above him), but because of a massive tattoo of a lion that snaked from behind his left knee to occupy the majority of his upper back?

Hitsugaya shook his head, raising an eyebrow at the rather trivial statistical report, compiled by Ise Nanao, that had somehow gotten tucked into one of his division's monthly budget reports.

... and who would have dreamed that no other division in all of the Gotei 13 sent more mail addressed to "Kaachan" than the violent miscreants of the 11th? Appearances can be deceiving.

* * *

That's right - the 11th Division is full of Mama's Boys. My 11th Division 'facts' are completely of my own design - (I don't know if I even like the idea of Yumichika with a lion tattoo, lol). Next time: **Sometimes In The 11th... (Memories Came Back)**.


	3. Seated Officers Bond

**Sometimes In The 11****th****… (Seated Officers Bond)**

This one is very short - but tomorrow is another day, and another feature. (I can't promise I'll be updating this every day, but so far, my brain has been tickling me very frequently).

* * *

Madarame Ikkaku had always been good with his hands; they were skillful, deft, graceful even. However, they were _not_ accustomed to their current task.

As his clever hands worked he was forced to inhale some of the substance they were covered in. It was a thick smell, and the texture that met his grip was lumpy, greasy, and pasty.

And people _ate_ it.

"Yo – it's not my fault all you eat is fish and rice," said the petite doll of a black-clad foreign Shinigami (she called herself a gu-ri-mu sa-ban-to*), her uniform trimmed in silver, making her a… lieutenant. The helpful - if just a little bit cranky - girl had retrieved the jar of brown muck from her kitchen (lieutenants in the North American Soul Society had their own kitchens?) after she'd heard Ikkaku screaming in the Court of Council.

"What is this place?" chimed the 11th Division's vice captain.

"This is the Court of Council – it's where souls who wish to petition the Board of Elders come when they have complaints or requests," the American answered.

"… you have a system for _legal rulings_?" Ikkaku asked, dumbstruck.

"America is possibly the most litigious culture in all the world – you think we're any different just because we're _dead_?" she asked in reply.

"How the hell would you even eat this stuff, anyway?" he asked as he wrinkled his nose in disgust, manipulating the goo and combing it through tangled fibers with an irritated scowl. His former question had been seen to, apparently.

"Sandwiches, stir fry, on fruit, on veggies – you name it. It's especially good with chocolate," she said in a dreamy voice. Ikkaku got the impression of a cabinet full of the stuff in her Spoiled Little American Lieutenant Princess Kitchen.

"It's also an especially helpful tool to keep around ICOC."

"… Ai-Shi-Oh-Shi?"

"In Case Of Children," she responded.

The short brunette smiled kindly at Ikkaku's superior. Leaning down to level with the seated vice captain Shinigami, she looked Kusajishi Yachiru in the eye and said, "Next time – spit out the gum _before_ you go to bed."

Yachiru just grinned in response and dipped another caramel in the nutty substance.

Peanut Butter may have been disgusting… but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be sneaking home with a few jars when it was time to leave.

* * *

To have drawn it out would have killed it, though, I feel.

*The unnamed North American Lieutenant (with her own kitchen) is a "Grim Servant", BTW.

Why are they in North America? It must be top secret – because not even I know. Next time: **Sometimes In The 11th... (Memories Came Back... no, I mean it this time)**


	4. Memories Came Back

**Sometimes In The 11th... (Memories Came Back)**

*insert time-of-day-appropriate greeting*, everyone! Today, Yumichika takes a stroll down Memory Lane... and Ikkaku's Terrible Secret is outed. **  
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Yumichika sighed, inhaling the dust of Rukongai with something akin to a nostalgic allergy attack. It was gentle at first, but held the promise of a ferocious onslaught of reminiscence - like the tickle of an impending sneeze, which quickly grew from there into a snotty, teary-eyed, red-nosed nightmare.

There, to the left of the dango shop with the battered red sign, was their old hovel. At least in this district, anyway - they'd had several over the decades, spread out over the breadth of Rukongai in a network of poor, dilapidated buildings, which had once been... average. In this district, Yumichika had learned the truth about his best friend, Ikkaku.

_There, in the haze of a damp, silver dawn, Yumichika found himself looking over Ikkaku as he slept off whatever drunken revelry he had partaken of the night before; it was clearly a good one, judging by the goose egg riding above the bald man's left temple. If the light spilling in from the broken shutters had been better he might have seen the road map of a damn-good brawl written across Ikakku's face even better - it didn't matter, though; Yumichika already knew it was there, just as well as he knew how much _worse_ his opponents were going to look when the sun had risen. _

_That wasn't the important part, though. Nope. There, in the floorless shack that smelled of bean curd and dirty laundry, Yumichika's truth smacked him full in the face. _

Ikkaku used to sleep back-to-back with Yumichika when they had been small children in the outer districts. Usually, their resting spot would be misappropriated by someone stronger toward the wee hours of the morning and the two would flee, wide-eyed despite being recently shocked out of sleep. Until Ikkaku got sick of it, that is. At some point he started fighting back - usually with less than desirable results. But, over time, Yumichika realized that he was beginning to win more often than he lost. And then Ikkaku fell ill, and Yumichika had to fend for both of them.

But, then, Hozukimaru. Then, Ruri'iro Kujaku. Then... Seireitei. Zaraki. Ichigo. Aizen. Time raced before Yumichika's eyes as he stared down the road, fixed on the faded red sign.

_There, on a raised platform that jokingly called itself a bed, a woman in a wrinkled yukata looked back at him with pleading eyes. Yumichika snorted to himself and carefully extracted her from the position she had foolishly gotten herself into... then he kicked his friend's limp form, sending him rolling over onto his right side, facing the chapped, wooden wall of the shack. Ikkaku grumbled something in a thuggish dialect that Yumichika didn't approve of at all, as it was the epitome of ugliness, but he ignored it. _

_As the woman - more of a girl, really - scampered out of the place with enough noise to wake the whole neighborhood (if you could call it that), Yumichika settled himself delicately, his back pressed against Ikkaku's in a familiar position, replacing the silly thing that had been trapped in the dangerous stranglehold of Ikkaku's grip._

The surface of the truth was that Ikkaku never stayed with his women. If you looked a little more closely, you would realize that it was because none of them was strong enough to survive a Madarame who liked to cuddle.

_But, he was._

_

* * *

_

Aww. Tee. I know this may sound fairly Ikkachika (did I just come up with that term on my own? It has a better ring to it than Ikkayumi, IMO), but it wasn't intended that way. After doing something so silly with Yumichika last time I wrote him, I felt obligated to depict him with a little more depth.

As for the early history between Ikkaku and Yumichika... I'unno. Pulled it out of my ear, to be honest.

Sorry it's another short one. Next one will be longer - Promise! (Next Time: **Sometimes In The 11th... Visitors Turn Up**)


	5. Visitors Turned Up

**Sometimes In The 11th... (Visitors Turned Up)**

Yet another beautiful day, with another... short short. I _still _don't own Bleach, but I like playing with it, so... here we have it!**  
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The 11th Division of the Gotei 13 was... unique. The 11th Division was full of callous, violent, no-good, nobodies who were more trouble than they were help. Or, at least, that's what Yasochika of the 4th Division would have you believe... granted, the predominantly male 11th Division never disagreed with the weenie from Unohana's group. The 11th Division was beyond care concerning the sniveling Advanced Relief Team leader.

He had stupid hair.

The relationship between the 11th and 4th divisions was strained at best. Only the highest seated officers in Zaraki's unit had any sense of tact, they said. Actually, it was less tact and more self-preservation. (Captain Unohana was _scary_). But, if there was one thing that could be said about their teamwork it would be that nobody healed better than the 4th Division... and nobody watched their wimpy asses better than the 11th.

You'd think I was talking about a visit from the 4th, wouldn't you? Well, I wasn't.

It was Saturday, and Zaraki Kenpachi was sitting on the roof of his administration building admiring the setting of the sun against the view of Sokyouku Hill, while indoors, Madarame and Ayasegawa tried to repair the "work" Yachiru had done earlier in the day. It fit; the day was dying, and it was a place of occasional death. But, he smelled the stench of another place that reminded him of death - the 4th Division.

"Oi," came the call. Zaraki knew that voice; it was the tone and timbre of someone whose mere presence set his blood ablaze like a match over oil. That voice meant the arrival of a damned good fight, and he was determined to take advantage of the kid's presence for as long as he could. Who cares what he was there for? Zaraki was not above monopolizing the kid's time for his own pleasure.

... but it sounded _off_. He sounded subdued, or... older? Like the brat had gone and grown up on him. Like the violent urge to see his will made good in reality had faded, or tempered itself. Like he had been weighed down by time.

"It's been a while, Ichigo," Zaraki said, not being able to contain his reaction to the Kurosaki kid's change. He felt as though someone had buried him up to his knees in damp sand... as if he'd been stopped in his tracks.

"Aa. It has been a while. I've been to see the old man," the kid began. Zaraki kept silent. "Apparently my skills need some brushing up on," his gritty voice laid out for him, chuckling a little at whatever had transpired between the two. Zaraki still did not respond.

"I'm supposed to get some experience working in a unit by being passed around between divisions for a few weeks, they say. The divisions will be chosen by you guys - the captains," he continued. Zaraki could practically hear Ichigo scratching the back of his head. Well, he'd have to make sure Ichigo spent some time with the 11th - no matter how stupid the kid was being right now. He'd smack that out of him if he had to.

"How's Yachiru?" he asked. Zaraki felt his grin forming without permission.

"She's getting older... and meaner," he answered, thinking about the little girl Ichigo had met when he'd first shown up with an exaggerated kitchen knife strapped to his back, ready to take on all of Soul Society to save a friend. Yachiru had been tiny in those days. She'd grown a lot since then. Zaraki hated it.

"What's the deal this time, kid? More trouble in paradise or just a social call?" he questioned the orange-haired shinigami, almost looking forward to an Ichigo-sized problem to tackle.

"Shit, Zaraki - can't you count? I'm eighty-seven years old," Ichigo announced with a chuckle. "I'm not here for tea. I'm dead."

"Ah..." Zaraki said, letting his thoughts hang like a coat on a hook. It drove the Kurosaki brat nuts.

"Took you long enough, asshole."

* * *

... I lied. I couldn't draw this one out. It's freaking _Zaraki_, people. He's not the most verbose fictional character you've ever encountered. As for the mention of the 4th Division... well, Ichigo's visit to Hanatarou was implied in the "apparently my skills need some brushing up on". That's right - Yamamoto showed that young whipper-snapper how it's done. Hanatarou showed him how it was undone. Yaaay 4th Division!

Next Time: **Sometimes In The 11th... Newbies Sign On**.


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